


Leaving Ground

by misaffection



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: F/M, Spoilers for 3.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-15
Updated: 2010-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:05:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd let Keats drive a wedge between her and Gene, and now the whole station was suffering, splintering. She had to stop before everything shattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Ground

The station was still, the silence broken only by the thrum of florescent lighting and the tick of the clock. Alex sat at her desk, eyes on the second hand as it marched up to twelve and racked up another minute lost to her half-life. Her gaze dropped to the papers scattered over her desk; reports and files that she'd hoped would hold the answer. The problem was that she was no longer sure of the question.

Alex cradled her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes. She was just so tired of it all – the lies, the manipulation, the fact she was here and not home. When would it end? How did she make it stop? She had thought that it might lie with helping Keats unearth whatever secrets Gene had, but she was no longer sure. Something she'd said to Thorby teased at her, something important. She unclipped up the photo of Sam Tyler from the report of his death.

_"I'm Sam Tyler!" _Thorby wasn't just a con artist, he was insane; she'd seen it in his eyes. _"I know the secret, Alex."_

That was bollocks, just like his claim to be Tyler. But the tin box… now that had been a different matter and she was still confused. What was real and what wasn't? God, she'd been here far too long if she couldn't answer _that _question anymore.

_"Sam Tyler died."_

Alex focused on the photo again, the thoughts clicking to place within her mind. Of course he had, but not here. Just because there was a newspaper clipping pinned to the wall in Gene's office and a report into Tyler's supposed death did not make it real. So what was she doing by investigating it? Not solving a crime, because there wasn't one to solve. So what? Simply propping up Keats' personal vendetta against Gene, that was what. She'd let him drive a wedge between her and Gene, and now the whole station was suffering, splintering. She had to stop before everything shattered.

With slow deliberation she replaced each report into its folder, then closed the cardboard over. Wound an elastic band around the fatter folders and made a small stack of them on her desk. She pushed her chair back and stood up. Her eyes flicked to the door of Gene's office. The inner sanctum was hidden from her gaze by the closed blinds. Shutting her out. She didn't really blame him.

She gathered the folders into her arms and walked out, her heels loud against the lino as she headed for the file room. Time to put the past in its place, she thought and clicked the light switch on with her elbow.

The ghost of the dead copper stood directly in front of her. She jolted, more out of surprise than horror; she was getting used to these visitations. Her way was blocked and she stared at the ruined face in despair.

"What?" Was it her imagination or was he looking at the files. "What else am I supposed to do? This is all past, and it's not real anyway. I don't have any answers for you." Alex gave a humourless laugh. "I don't even have any answers for myself."

The ghost shook its head and then stared over her shoulder, down the corridor to the stairs. Then its unsettling gaze returned to her and she thought that she saw concern in the remaining eye. It was a message, but not one Alex understood.

"What?" she demanded, exasperated. A distant bang of a door made her look round instinctively. When she looked back, the ghost was gone. Disturbed and bewildered. She crossed to one of the tables and dumped her pile of folders onto the surface. Taking the uppermost file, she found the relevant cabinet drawer, opened it and dropped the file into place. Closed the drawer firmly, then repeated the process until each case had been filed away.

She leant against the cabinet once it was done, her eyes closed. Hopefully this would start to repair the damage she'd caused, though she wasn't sure if Gene would forgive her betrayal. A sad sigh escaped her.

The metallic click of the door latching shut made her turn. She was neither surprised nor pleased to see Keats lounging against the door, gloved hands loose at his sides.

"What are you doing, Alex?"

His tone was soft, mocking. She knew that he knew, and lifted her chin. "What I needed to do. I've put the past behind me."

"Oh, Alex, I'm disappointed in you. I thought you knew better than to hide from the truth."

"And what might the truth be, Jim? That Gene Hunt is rotten and needs pruning from the police force before he drags this station into disrepute?" Alex stood straight and locked her eyes with his. "Or is the truth that you have a personal vendetta against Gene, your own axe to grind?"

Keats' expression tightened and he pushed off the door with one shoulder. He sauntered towards her, menace in every step. Alex took a step back, bumping into the cabinet. There was no escape, but he wouldn't do anything to her surely? _Surely?_

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Have you forgotten why you're here, Alex? What Gene did to you? He shot you, Alex. You nearly died." He put a hand on her abdomen, over the scar. "Remember the bullet, Alex. Remember it tearing into you, the blood pouring out. How every heartbeat pumped the life out of you."

"Stop it," she ordered in a shaky voice. She wanted to push him away but her arms were like stone, cold and immobile. A pain flared in her stomach, centred on the scar. She could feel something wet and warm slid over her skin, tried to dismiss that as impossible but couldn't stop the terror that crept through her gut.

"Shh, now." Keats' voice was like molasses. Sweet, cloying, dark. The leather of his glove cool as he cupped her cheek with his other hand. "It's okay, Alex."

Only it wasn't. Blood thundered in her ears and her vision was hazy. Her body trembled, the weakness that swept over her all too familiar. She tried to cry out but couldn't force the words that crowded her mind out of her mouth. Panic flooded her – she was going to die and this time there'd be no other world. No Gene. Nothing.

It couldn't end like this. Not with so much left unsaid, so much not done. But her awareness slipped from her grasp, sinking like a stone and dragging her after it. The shadows closed in around her.

The door slammed against the wall with a bang and the tremble of glass. The hands against her were suddenly gone. Alex forced her eyes open to see Gene holding the lapel of Keats' coat, a murderous expression on his face. Before she'd even assimilated the fact that he'd saved her life again, Gene had delivered a mean right hook that connected with Keats' jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor.

Alex stared at the prone figure. She tried to stand straight, but the room spun and her vision hazed again. Her slide to the floor was halted when Gene grabbed her elbow.

"Don't go gettin' girly on me, Bolly." Despite the hard tone, his eyes were worried when she peered at his face. "You alright?"

She thought about it. The world was returning to what passed as normal; the pain in her stomach dissipating and her senses clearing. "Yeah."

"Good," Gene said and propped her against the wall. "Cos I need both 'ands to give Mr Keats the creamin' of his life."

It was a very Gene Hunt solution to a problem, but this time Alex was tempted to leave him to it. If there hadn't been Gene's career to worry about, she might have done, but there was and she couldn't let him end up suspended over this. She launched herself at him, wrapping her hands around his arm and pulling him back.

"No," she said softly. "Leave it. He's not worth the effort."

"'E 'urt you," Gene replied, his eyes still fixed on Keats. "I ain't gonna let that slide."

"If you touch him, then he'll just have more ammunition. You'd be playing right into his hands." She glanced at Keats. He had sat up now, and held one hand to his jaw. "I don't know about you Guv, but I'm sick of being his game piece."

"Yeah? Maybe you're right, Bols. Maybe you're right."

"I can take him down with or without you, Alex."

"By throwing enough mud that some of it sticks?" She shot him a glare, furious at his lies and the fact she'd fallen for them. "You'd almost convinced me, Jim. That's what frightens me the most. If it hadn't been for Thorby, I would have believed you. But then I remembered what I told him. And I remembered other things, like how Gene couldn't possibly have killed Sam Tyler."

She felt Gene stiffen at Sam's name but she didn't look back, just simply squeezed his arm in reassurance. Keats smirked at her.

"But he nearly killed you. He shot you."

The mention of being shot made Alex shudder. Whatever he'd done before had made the memory more immediate, the recall sharp as the day it had happened. She could remember the sun on her face, the sound of the wind in the trees. The burning pain in her abdomen, the disbelief that had shocked through her as she realised what Gene had done. And the anger she'd felt.

Anger. She was still angry at him and how he'd trapped her in another layer of this nowhere place. Her head snapped up and she stared at Keats, suddenly aware of how he'd used that against her. The wedge.

"He did." Her agreement and soft smile got to Keats and she saw his smug expression be replaced by one of wary suspicion. "But it was an accident. He didn't intent to shoot me. It wasn't an attempt to kill me. I got in the way, so it's as much my fault as it is his. And there's one thing more, Jim."

Alex turned her back on him. One thing, but it was reserved for Gene and she needed to see his face, see his reaction. "I forgive him."

Something went from the room then, a subtle change in the atmosphere that made the light brighter, the air easier to breathe. Gene didn't seem particularly taken aback by her announcement, or even pleased. His only acknowledgement that he'd heard her was a grunt and the slight lessening of the tension around his eyes. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and glowered at Keats.

"Gerrowt of my station," he ordered in a flat voice. "I don't wanna see or even smell you around 'ere again. An' if Bolly tells me she'd seen you 'anging about, there'll be another bloody accident."

Keats pulled himself to his feet. "You can't threaten me!"

"I thought I just did." Gene stepped back to clear a path. Alex let him pull her with him, and leant against his arm, her head on his shoulder. "Get out."

A chill permeated the air. The dead copper manifested just behind Keats', its single eye fixed on the back of the man's head. Keats froze and glanced over his shoulder, but Alex didn't think he could see the ghost. He could certainly feel its presence though, because he looked nervous and edgy as he hastened to the file room door. The ghost dogged his steps. _Hazing_, Alex thought and blinked at the wicked half smile that touched the dead man's lips.

Its appearance was not happenstance, not now and certainly not the first time, just before Keats had arrived at the station. So much for it warning her about Gene. Another assumption wide of the mark, and what was up with her lately? She gave a heavy sigh.

"Bolly?" Gene's tone was concerned. She smiled at him.

"What?"

"D'you wanna lift home?"

"Yes. Yes please, Gene." She glanced around the room and shuddered. "I really want to get out of here."

Gene offered her his arm and she took it gratefully. The ghost had vanished, though whether it had gone back to wherever or if it was still haunting Keats, she'd no idea. She didn't care either. Maybe it would drag the bastard into the shadows, like the bad guys in Ghost. It was a fitting ending.

Alex averted her eyes from the desk as they walked through reception. She still expected to see Viv behind the counter and it hurt not to. But then Gene was holding the door open and she stepped out into the cool, clear night.

There was no sign of Keats, a fact she was grateful for as she sank into the passenger seat of the Quattro. She pulled the seatbelt across her chest and fastened it. Gene shut the door and she rested her head back, closed her eyes. She heard the driver's door open, felt the car dip as he got in. Thump, click; door, seatbelt. Keys jangled, then the engine roared into life, filling the silence that Alex was too exhausted to break.

And Gene, never the conversationalist, didn't speak either.

Yet the silence was easy, companionable and very unlike the awkward, tense ones that had defined their relationship of late. Since Keats had walked into the station and started playing one against the other.

She listened to the thrum of the tyres and thought back over every meeting and conversation that she'd had with Keats. Doubts and questions that she'd not considered at the time rose in her mind, and his manipulation seemed obvious, but then hindsight was always twenty-twenty vision.

But it was worrying how easily she'd fallen into Keats' game of divide and conquor. She should have known, should have seen it for what is was. She was trained in psychology for crying out loud! Why had she missed the clues?

"You know, I can 'ear the cogs turnin', Bols," Gene said. "Quit thinkin'"

She snorted, but realised he had a point - rehashing events in her mind would not solve anything. The thought occurred that maybe she ought to forgive herself as well as him. She sighed.

"Did you want to talk about it?" she asked, opening her eyes to give him a steady look. He glanced at her, then looked back at the road.

"What's to discuss?"

His tone was hard, almost hiding the hurt, but not quite. She'd betrayed him. Worse, she'd not trusted him. Yet she knew the lift home wasn't purely down to his curious sense of chivalry. It was a chance for her to repair some of the damage done.

"A lot of things, I think." She saw his jaw clench. "I swear I won't bring up Sam again, or anything that Keats accused you of. But if… if we're ever going to work together again… I think we ought to talk."

Gene grunted and stamped on the brakes. The tyres squealed as the Quattro came to its usual style of halt. Alex rolled her eyes, not impressed by this display of his driving standards. She didn't comment on it though; after what she'd just said it would be facetous, never mind that it would make him defensive and probably cause an argument. Something she was desperate to avoid.

"I have a bottle of Scotch that's been sat unopened in my cupboard since the Christmas do," she told him. "Will you come in?"

She had no hope that he would accept the invitation, except that he'd heard her come to his defence against Keats' accusations. His face was impassive, but she wouldn't beg, still had that much pride, even if she had precious little else. Though that resolve eroded as the seconds ticked by and he remained silent, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the windscreen.

Finally, he turned back and looked at her. "Yeah."

Relief flooded through her and she got out of the car, fishing in her bag for her keys. Gene shut his door and came around to stand on the pavement, hands stuffed into his pockets again. He looked uncomfortable, as if he already regretted his decision. Alex ushered him up the stairs to her flat before he could change his mind.

"Take you coat off and have a seat," she said as she headed into the kitchen. The fact he'd come this far made her oddly nervous and she couldn't remember where the damn bottle was, which meant she had to root through the cupboards.

Her ears strained to catch any noise from the lounge; she expected him to turn the television on at least, but there was nothing but silence. At least she'd not heard him leave, she thought and took two glass tumblers from a wall cupboard. She twisted the cap off the bottle, then slid her hand down the neck to its body.

And nearly jumped out of her skin when Gene's fingers closed around her wrist.

"I didn't come in for the Scotch."

He was stood right behind her, close enough that the breath of his statement tickled her neck. Heat flushed through her and she swallowed dryly.

"What did you come in for, then?"

"I want to know what Keats did to you."

Alex shuddered. "I'd really rather not."

"I'd really rather know if it were the right thing to let 'im walk away."

Realising there was no getting out of it, she twisted her head to look at him. "Can I at least have a drink first?"

He let her go and she picked the bottle up. Her hand shook as she poured the scotch, sloshing a goodly amount onto the worktop. She put the bottle down and picked the glass up, drained the Scotch in two deep swallows. It burnt a path down to her stomach and made her gasp.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols," he murmured. "Must have been bad."

"It was," she muttered, and poured another drink. She sloshed a measure into the other glass and handed it to Gene. "I don't know what he did, not exactly. He was talking about the day you shot me, reminding me how I felt. I swear I could feel the bullet again. It was awful."

"Psychosomatics," Gene said.

Alex choked on her drink and stared at him. "You said what?"

"That's the right word, innit? For when someone messes wiv your 'ead and makes you think stuff."

"Who are you and what have you done with Gene Hunt?" She shook her head. "How do you know that?"

Gene looked proud. "Been readin' up."

"Why?"

"Cos, Bols, sometimes talkin' to you is like talkin' to someone from a foreign country. Had to learn a bit of the lingo just to understand you."

Warmth suffused through Alex, and it wasn't entirely down to the Scotch. She was touched that he'd bothered to learn even some of the terminology he hated so much. She smiled at him.

"Still think it's all bollocks?" she teased.

"Oh, absolutely." He laughed with her, something that had not happened for far too long. Then his expression went serious. "'Aving said that, it looked like 'e was doin' a fair job of persuadin' you to die."

Alex shivered and went to turn away, only a hand on her arm stopped her. She inhaled sharply, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. But the fright was too recent, her defences worn down by exhaustion and alcohol, and she was overwhelmed. A sob escaped her.

She didn't expect sympathy from Gene, so when his arms circled her she jerked in shock.

"S'alright, Bols, I 'ave you."

For all his protests about her "getting girly", Alex knew he hadn't really meant it. He'd just wanted her to show Keats that she'd been bothered. But she was safe now, and she could drop the pretence. She buried her face against his wool coat, smelt Old spice, leather and Scotch, and let the tears come.

How long she cried, she didn't know. Gene said nothing, just held her, his embrace offering her strength and warm comfort. But eventually the sobs eased and she caught her breath. He loosened one arm, fished in a pocket and handed her a handkerchief. For some reason, this made her laugh and she dabbed at her face.

"Sorry."

"I reckon most people get upset at near-death experiences," Gene returned with a shrug. Alex looked at him.

"I didn't mean just that," she said quietly. "I meant for everything. You asked me to trust you and I didn't. If I had, then Keats wouldn't have got some a foothold."

"'E'd only 'ave ended up botherin' some other poor sod. We dealt wiv 'im."

"Eventually."

"Better late than never, Bolly. Better late than never."

"I suppose so." She sniffed. "God, I bet I look a right mess now. Give me a minute, would you? Feel free to help yourself to the Scotch. I think I've had enough."

Alex headed to the bathroom. As she reached the door, Gene called her back. She glanced a quizzical look over her shoulder. He leered at her.

"Feel free to slip into sommat more comfortable."

She laughed, shook her head and ducked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The bathroom light was too stark to offer Alex any kindness and she stared at her reflection in some horror. Her dark eye shadow had smudged and made it look like someone had belted her, and her cheeks were streaked with run mascara. She winced at her bedraggled appearance, then filled the sink with warm water and washed her face clean.

She felt considerably better for it. If Gene hadn't have been waiting for her, she'd shower and get rid of the itchy, grubby feeling that crawled over her skin. But he was and she didn't know how patient he was prepared to be. She decided to leave it until the morning and padded into her bedroom.

Her heels were the first things to come off and she dropped onto her bed to massage her feet. Gene's suggestion of "something more comfortable" seemed a good idea and Alex took it literally and stripped down to her knickers, replacing the suit trousers and silk blouse with grey leggings and a soft blue jumper. She took off her jewellery and put it on her dressing table, then raked her fingers through her hair before heading back into the lounge.

Gene had definitely made himself comfortable and had removed both his wool coat and suit jacket. He was sat on her sofa, engrossed in a newspaper. On the coffee table there was an opened bottle of red wine, two glasses, his driving gloves… and his feet.

Alex stalked over and slapped his shin. "Feet off."

He looked, absorbing her appearance in one glance as he removed his feet off her furniture. If he was disappointed at her singly unattractive attire, or annoyed at her housekeeping, he hid it well.

"You took your time, Bols," he said affably. She shrugged and flopped down on the sofa next to him. His eyes scanned her face. "You alright?"

Irritation flashed through her – he'd not even fussed over her this much when Viv died, for crying out loud. She huffed and tucked her feet under her bottom. "Is that wine just for decoration, or were you going to pour me a glass?"

Gene arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. He sat forward and filled both glasses with wine, then handed one to her. She took it with a murmured "Thanks" and inhaled the sweet aroma of berries and spice. Tilting the glass, she let the wine fill her mouth and then swallowed deeply. When she opened her eyes, she found Gene watching her.

"So…" He paused. She braced herself for more questions about Keats, but what he said was, "Who d'you reckon is gonna win the cup?"

She snorted. Football. Well, it was preferable to the alternative. She smirked at him. "Chelsea?"

"Oh please, couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery, never mind win a footy match."

"United," she said and laughed at the outrage on his face. "Joking!"

"Not funny."

"It was a little." She smiled at him, then gave a sad sigh. "I've missed this. You and me, talking," she clarified at his puzzled expression. "Bloody Keats."

"Amen."

"I really am sorry, Gene." She looked away. "I rather made a mess of things."

Her glass was taken from her hand and placed carefully on the table. Then Gene cupped her cheek and she allowed his gentle pressure to lift her chin up. She met his eyes. Her own widened at what she saw reflected there.

"Not an irredeemable one," he said and his voice was oh so soft and she knew she was forgiven. She smiled and took a breath. But only got as far as opening her mouth to say his name, because he silenced her with a kiss.

It was the merest brush of his lips against hers, but still enough to steal the breath from her body, enough to make her heart trip. He moved away, an inch and no more, and caught her startled gaze.

Alex stared at him. For the briefest second she wondered if sex was how she was supposed to redeem herself, then pushed the thought away as unworthy. This wasn't about that; it was about what had been between them almost from the beginning. The thing she'd fought so hard against feeling. A fight she now lost.

"Gene," she said, and reached for him.

He didn't pull away and she buried her face in the curve of his neck. Three breaths filled her lungs with his scent, strengthened her resolve to end this game. She lifted her head, looked him square in the eye, and then kissed him. Hard, so that he couldn't possibly misread her intention. Given that he promptly dropped one hand onto her leg and swept it upwards, Alex gathered he hadn't.

It was nice to be on the same page for once.

Her ankles were knocked off the sofa, but before she could wonder why Gene surged forward and pushed her down against the padded arm, deepened the kiss.

Shit, this is going to happen right here, right now. Alex knew a flicker of concern about what this meant for her, for them, but then his hand slid under her jumper and every thought evaporated in the heat of desire. His touch seared over her ribs. She arched her back as his fingers cupped a breast.

"Oh," she gasped. "Fuck."

"Is that a request?"

"You could try," she retorted, "but I think even the Gene Genie's not magical enough to get past certain… complications."

With that she put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him backwards. A frown creased his forehead and she moved quickly, her fingers undoing his tie and top button before he thought she was rejecting the whole idea.

"Ah, _that _sort of complication." Understanding showed on his face. His eyes glinted with mischief. "Come 'ere while I uncomplicate you."

Alex laughed but let him pull her up from the sofa. She wound an arm around his shoulder and gave him what was no doubt a very soppy smile. Not that she cared. She wanted him and nothing else mattered, not even her pride.

Gene found the hem of her jumper and eased it up. She lifted her arms and slid out of the garment, shivering a little as the cool air of the flat brushed her bare skin. She looked at his face and was amused to see that his eyes were fixed on her chest, his expression lustfully appreciative.

"Well?" she asked. "Do they meet with your approval?"

"They look okay," he allowed. "'Ave to try 'em out before I can really give an opinion."

She rolled her eyes at how predicable he was, then looked him in the eye, grabbed his hands and placed them over her breasts. "I think you'll find that they do everything they're supposed to," she said, smiling a little as his eyes widened. "I'm hoping that you're as… operational."

"Better believe it, Bolly."

"I'd rather see it. Circumstantial evidence isn't admitted in a court of- _Ohh_!"

Ripples of sensation fluttered through her breasts, the pain of her pinched nipples morphing to pleasure that spiralled down and settled in her stomach. "As are confessions extracted by force."

"I'll bloody show you force," Gene muttered, and his dark tone made her shiver again. He tangled the fingers of one hand into her hair and held on. It didn't hurt unless she tried to pull away, which she gathered was rather the point. He smirked at her. "And insurmountable proof."

"If it's insur_mountable_, there's not going to be that much proof."

Gene blinked at her.

"I always knew you 'ad a dirty mind," he said and grinned. "You might be posh, but you're still a tart."

"Oh, shut up," she groused and pushed up on an elbow, ignoring the pain that bloomed on one side of her head as her hair pulled tight. She kissed him briefly. "And you say _I _talk too much."

"Can fix that," he breathed and her lips were reclaimed in a bruising kiss.

Alex groaned and hooked an arm around him, pressed herself against his chest. The cotton of his shirt rubbed her sensitised nipples, sending fission of pleasure into her groin but also reminding her of something important.

"Not while… hmm." She wriggled as he kissed her neck. "We're wearing too many clothes."

"Can fix that too."

She fell back against the arm of the sofa and watched through hazy eyes as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings. She flattened her foot on the floor and angled her hips upwards. Gene's eyes met her briefly and she heard the thought that went through his mind. A dirty chuckle escaped her.

He smirked and slid her leggings over her hips, and then inched them down her legs, the knuckles of his fingers scraping her skin all the way. She shuddered, aroused even by that contact. But then, she had been waiting a long time for this.

Her leggings were dropped to the floor and then Gene leant forward again. Alex closed her eyes as his lips met hers and moved against them teasingly. She swallowed a moan, but knew he was pressed too close to be unaware of how her body reacted. Or she hoped; one could never be sure whether Gene Hunt had noticed the bleeding obvious or not.

Oh he has, she thought as he pressed a certain part of his anatomy closer and rubbed against her. She hooked a leg around his waist. He groaned.

"Alex."

The _need _in his voice shattered the last of her reservations. She slid her hands between them and found his shirt buttons, yanking at them until they either came undone or their stitching gave up. At least two pinged off to rattle on the floor. She could repair that later, right now…

"Fuck," she muttered, part curse, part demand.

"Yeah, just what I was thinkin'," Gene replied gruffly.

"Great minds, so they say." Alex pulled leather through a buckle and loosened his belt. The teeth of his zipper grated metallically. She arched an eyebrow. "Commando, Detective Chief Inspector?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Boy Scout, Bolls – always prepared. In this case, for immediate action."

She laughed. "Twonk."

"Hmm?" He nuzzled at her neck and she squirmed. "Wasn't 'immediate action' what you wanted?"

She opened her mouth, something contrary on her tongue, but swallowed it at the look on his face. The smile was cocky, but there was a faint vulnerability reflected in his eyes. She touched his cheek tenderly.

"Oh hell yes."

"Oh thank God."

He let her go only long enough to shove his trousers down to mid-thigh, then he was covering her, his body warm and vital and so _alive_. Alex closed her eyes and tilted her hips upwards, seeking the ultimate connection. A gasp ripped from her throat as he slid in and filled her.

There was a moment of stillness. Gene's head rested against her shoulder, his harsh breaths puffing over her skin. The fingers of his right hand were hard on her hip, as if he were afraid to let go. She circled his shoulders with her arms and racked a hand through his hair.

"Gene?" she whispered.

"M'alright." He lifted his head and met her eyes. He looked slightly stunned. "Alex?"

"Oh, I'm _fine_." She smiled at him and then stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Except I'm fairly sure we're missing a vital component here. I think there's supposed to be a little more… activity."

"Yeah, sorry. Got a little… lost."

She shifted her hips. "No, you're right there."

"Fuck, Alex."

"Please."

Gene snorted, but he moved and God but it had been far, far too long. She'd not dated for years, out of disinterest and a preference for concentrating on her career. And, truth be told, she'd never found anyone that… stirred here. Then Gene Hunt had arrived on the scene.

He definitely stirred her – Alex didn't think there was an emotion left that she'd not felt towards this man at one time or another. He drove her to distraction, so totally un-PC and rude and ridiculously macho. A self-professed bastard who wasn't shy of saying exactly what he thought or doing exactly what he deemed necessary. There had been times when he'd frightened her… but then there was the other side.

This side.

Alex suspected she saw more of Gene's gentler nature than anyone else. Of course, she'd swear blind it didn't exist and he'd probably shoot her if she admitted it did. She smiled against his shoulder as he surged into her again; she was more than happy to keep quiet, since it made that side of him hers alone.

She dropped her head back, her neck supported by the sofa arm. His teeth found the spot just above her collarbone. She shuddered and retaliated by scratching her nails down his back. He grunted and rammed in harder.

"Oh God," Alex gasped, then giggled. "You are such a kinky bastard."

"Better believe it."

"I do."

She lifted her head and looked at him. Sweat plastered his blond hair to his forehead and there was an intent glitter in his eyes. She tussled his hair, making it stick up in all directions and then pulled his head down.

The kiss was slow, sure, and Gene moved his hips lazily. Her blood simmered, a steady build of pleasure that made her toes curl. It was a subtle change, but a profound one. Even as she recognised what he was doing, her stomach giving a flutter of shock, she knew the difference was important.

Not just sex.

It might be easier if it was, but when had anything connected to Gene Hunt been easy? Alex gave a sigh and lowered the last barrier around her heart, sliding her arms around his broad shoulders as she surrendered everything to him. There'd be consequences, painful ones at that, but right now she could only be true to herself and what she wanted.

"You're thinkin' again, Drake," Gene muttered. "Aren't I payin' enough attention?"

"No, you're just fine." She focused on him and smiled. "More than, in fact."

"You're not too bad yourself."

Alex grinned. "Going soppy on me, Gene?"

He gave her a look. "Does _that _feel like I am?"

"What?" She blinked at him, her expression one of contrived innocence. "Did I miss something?"

"Bloody woman," he groused. She laughed and wrapped her legs around his. His eyes widened as she ground against him. "Hell, _Alex_."

"It feels fine," she said, in case he'd somehow neglected to notice that. She smiled at him. "Well enough that I'm very/ close, Gene."

"I know." He shifted and she moaned at the prickle of sensation that fluttered through her stomach. "Just not willin' to let you go just yet."

"Who's going anywhere? We have the night. Well, what's left of it."

Gene dropped his gaze. "S'not long enough, Bols."

"Don't," she breathed. "I don't want to think about that just now."

"We have to. Eventually."

Defiance surged. "I don't bloody care. I'm sick of putting my life on hold. We can deal with whatever happens now Gene, because we're together. I won't let that bastard win."

He looked at her then and she held his gaze. She'd made her decision, for good or bad, and she would _not _back down or second-guess it. She wanted him to know that.

"You trust me, then?" he asked softly.

"Yes." _And I love you, too,_ but she didn't say that.

If they survived this, if by some small miracle she managed to stay here, then she would. When it wouldn't distract him from whatever he needed to do.

Gene smiled slightly. "Yeah, I thought so."

Alex snorted. So much for _that _idea. "Shut up and make me come."

"Ever the lady."

"If you were a gentleman, I wouldn't have had to ask."

"If I were a gentleman, we wouldn't be fucking on the settee," he retorted. She tried to think of a comeback, but he pushed against her in _just _the right way and the only thing to issue from her mouth was a ragged groan.

He ground against her again and the pleasure spiked, sending her skywards. White light exploded behind her eyelids, shattered into stars as wave after wave of bliss swept outwards from her abdomen. She was vaguely aware of Gene grinding her name out and she felt him shudder hard.

She came down slowly, breathing hard as her sense of self fitted back together. Her entire body was full of a delicious lethargy, limbs heavy, sated. About bloody time too, she thought and smiled. Her fingers traced Gene's spine as he lay, sprawled on top of her, a very definite and real weight. One hand cupped the side of her head and he was stroking her hair. She turned and kissed his palm.

"Bols," he said softly, then, "_Alex_."

She blinked hard at the emotion in his voice. "Yeah," she murmured. "I thought so too."

It wasn't something either of them could say, she supposed. The end game was still ahead, along with whatever that would bring. Getting entangled with Gene at this stage wasn't the wisest thing she'd done, but all she'd really done was physically put herself where her heart was already.

There were several things she regretted having done in her life, things she regretted not doing. At least she'd had this, brief as it might turn out to be.

Her eyes sought out the clock, its hands white in the darkness. Ten past two. There were a few hours until the morning. She needed to make the most of every one. She nudged his shoulder.

"Gene?"

"What?"

"Bedroom, now."

"Bloody _hell_. Couldn't you 'ave given me a minute?"

"When I have one, I will."

He muttered something she didn't quite catch and probably didn't want to, but he hauled himself up and repaired his trousers. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh bloody hell." He bent down and scooped her into his arms, then smirked. "I do believe, Bols, this is where we came in."

"Only I'm wearing less."

"Not noticeably. You 'ad as much cleavage on show." She put her head on his shoulder as he strolled easily out of the lounge. "And your skirt was so short I don't even remember what colour it was."

"You thought I was a prostitute," she said, but it was too long ago for her to feel any offence. And he'd called her worse since.

"I saved your life, and not for the first time."

"You did, and I am eternally grateful."

Gene dropped her unceremoniously on the bed and sprawled alongside her. "Eternal, huh? That's a lot of gratitude, Alex."

She laughed and rolled onto her side, shifting closer to him. She put her hand on his chest, felt his heart beating beneath her palm, then slid downwards.

"I know." She kissed him lingering and her fingers found their target. "Let me show you how much."

"Okay."

Alex knew she only had a few hours, but she also knew how to make every second count. For both of them.


End file.
